


Years Gone By

by Themistoklis



Category: Candle Cove
Genre: Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:37:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themistoklis/pseuds/Themistoklis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Candle Cove's manifestation in two pre-television generations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Years Gone By

**Author's Note:**

  * For [st_aurafina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Candle Cove](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/14292) by Kris Straub. 



> Thanks to a fellow yuletider for beta-ing. The prompt that drew me in to write this treat was: "Candle Cove in the pre-television generations!"

**Western U.S. Territories, mid-1840s**

"At least this one was a boy. And a sight less fussy."

Mrs. Clifton looked up distractedly from the window over the kitchen washbasin and tucked some of her hair back under her bonnet. Her scalp was sweltering under the cotton, but it wouldn't do to take it off in front of the doctor.

It had taken months to get that window put in. Look what all she used it for. Watching Felicity sit in the dirt, and the laundry go undone.

Sometime soon she would need to go outside and set the fire under the wash bin, but wasting the good doctor's time was an invitation to get kicked off the route. With only a few stops a year as it was, she couldn't afford to risk that. The neighbors' home remedies only got her so far.

Although she would readily admit -- in private, at least, or to Felicity, who never repeated a word if there was anyone outside the family around -- that Dr. Horn missing Elijah's birth had been a fortuitous event for all of them. The doctor had more knowledge than most, but he did tend to be a bit … harsh.

"What's his name again? Evan?" the doctor asked. He had out a little magnifying glass, the size of his thumb, and was examining the birthmark on Elijah's elbow.

Mrs. Clifton stepped away from the window over the washbasin and walked to the small crib her husband had built for the baby. "Elijah," she said. The baby, squirming in Dr. Horn's cold grip, looked up at her and a smile split his face. Mrs. Clifton smiled back.

Then Felicity _screamed._

"Lord have mercy, what is that racket?" Dr. Horn jerked up so quickly that the tiny magnifying glass fell and bounced off Elijah's plump belly, falling into the folds of his blanket.

The baby's lower lip trembled and Mrs. Clifton bent double to sweep him up into her arms before he could catch Felicity's shriek, a wandering siren that wormed its way into her brother's lungs far too often.

Dr. Horn took to the doorway while Mrs. Clifton struggled to get Elijah swaddled before his whimper built. She about lost her breath when she heard a panicked whinny, knowing that couldn't possibly be a sound Felicity could make even in her worst fit.

"Moses! You damn horse, come back here!" Dr. Horn shouted, blasting away before Mrs. Clifton could even remember where he had parked the horse and buggy.

She couldn't hear a buggy following the horse's cries, though. For a moment she teetered on running towards the door to find out what was going on, but the window was closer. She turned to it with Elijah in her arms.

Felicity was still screaming in the dirt, on her back and shaking, her elbows making dents in the grass.

Dr. Horn was chasing a dark horse across their field, ripping up some of their best turnip greens along the way. The buggy was sitting where it had been, tipped forwards without the horse to keep it up. Some of the connecting ropes lay twisted in the grass.

Mrs. Clifton stepped sideways out the door and bounced Elijah in her arms as he picked up his sister's shrieks.

And the little marionette handles that Felicity always played with lay in the grass, too, their strings just as curled together as the ropes from the buggy. She'd made the Xs from the wood scraps left over from building her brother's crib. The string came from scraps bought off the traveling tin man.

They always asked if she wanted rags to make dolls with for puppeteering, but she said the ones she had were fine. It was one of the reasons people kept congratulating Mrs. Clifton on finally having a second child, and a boy, who would probably be less likely to… be like his sister.

"Mama!" Felicity cried, kicking at the handles. "Make Janice stop screaming!"

**Tennesee Valley, early 1940s**

James sat on the back porch and rolled up a cigar by firefly light, since the curtains were drawn.

It hadn't been that long since the Rural Electric Administration had made its way far enough into the valley to get to their farm, so James was used to his pupils widening in the dark and soaking up the moonlight to guide his hands by.

It didn't bother him that the window was shut and the curtains were drawn, anyway. He was fine ignoring the electric light sometimes. The lamp his parents allowed them to keep on in the evenings still seemed like something out of one of his kid brother's magazines, a robot from Mars that had sidled into their living room trying to find the White House and was too embarrassed now to ask for directions and leave. 

Not that the lamp was something Lawrence could've put together himself. Though he would probably try one day when he wanted one in his own room.

James figured that if Lawrence wasn't tempted by soda so often, he'd be saving up for an electric radio instead of the crystal one he'd put together a few years ago. Now, that heap of wood and wires actually was from a magazine. Lawrence had walked around to every farm in the area and probably done a dozen people's chores to save up the money for the pieces to go into it. He'd had to send off for the diode.

Inhaling on his cigar and puffing out some smoke, James felt an ache go up his back. It had been a long day. For all of them. A tree had fallen and they'd needed everyone on hand to get it out of the way and calm the animals. His parents were already asleep. He was halfway there himself.

His knees let out protesting creaks when he sat up. That wasn't quite fair, since he was hardly his father's age, but maybe he'd been sitting out here in the chill longer than he'd thought he'd been. He stomped out the cigar, beating it into the dusty grass, and turned to head into the house.

Lawrence was huddled in front of the radio, clearly not as fatigued as his older brother. James studied him for a moment. He had a hand up to his ear, pressing a headphone against the side of his head.

There were four sets of headphones in all, though two were in much worse condition than the others and not often used. Mostly it was just Lawrence at the radio, or both their parents. Sometimes Lawrence would cajole them into listening to a show all together, for which the extra sets were necessary. But since they were in disrepair, they picked up even more static than the two good sets did from time to time. Lawrence explained once that static was just a 'feature' of crystal radios. James had nodded and gone on to not pick up a set of headphones that often.

He felt the same way about the radio that he did the lamp, except instead of an alien being, it looked more like the scrap from a spaceship crash. (That, his mother would say, made him a bit of a fusspot.)

"Maybe it's time to go to bed, Larry," he prompted. He waited a moment, but his brother didn't turn around. He cleared his throat and stepped closer. "Larry? Time to go to bed. We've got market to make in the morning."

Still, Lawrence didn't turn. "M'listening to Candle Cove," he said. He flapped his hand to shoo James away.

"That should be over by now, shouldn't it?" James asked. Lawrence didn't answer, bent in concentration over the radio, like he could see the story if he listened hard enough.

Frowning, James picked up an extra headset. He flinched when he had it over his ears. The static was so loud he was surprised he hadn't heard it before he put the thing over his head. But his brother seemed fine, so he figured he must have picked up one of the old headsets. He tried another, same result. The last one must be the good one.

Still nothing but static.

"Larry, you're not listening to anything," he snapped, irritated. Lawrence didn't spare him a glance. He dropped the headphones on the table and stared, waiting for his brother to reveal that he'd been pranking him.

When James bent over the back of the radio to see if his brother's headphones were even plugged in at all, Lawrence let out a squawk. He beat away James' arms, landing a particularly sharp blow against James' funny bone that made him jump back.

"Stop! It's not over yet!" Lawrence insisted. His face, cheeks a bit hollow from not eating so well the past couple of years, was twisted up. James had seen that expression on babies. Or, well. Calves.

"There's only static. Somebody needs to look at the set," James said. Either that or just go the hell to bed, but he didn't think Lawrence would answer him at this point.

"Hush!" Larry shoved at James' leg this time. "The Laughingstock is about to talk! This is the best part!"

James spent a long moment staring at his little brother before bending to pick up an extra set of headphones one last time. He pressed them to his ears, and waited. Lawrence let out a half-excited, half-fearful shriek, and then burst into giggles that had him holding his stomach.

All that came over James' headphones was static.


End file.
